I had hoped her obvious interest meant she would hold the seat for me while I ordered food. I rounded her, feeling her follow the movement. I was just about to ask her to keep the seat for me when the thump of a laptop bag on top of the counter at the open seat caused me to flinch. No way. I whirled around and stared up at the source of irritation that had recently entered my life.
Because I have. As a paying customer, I think I take precedence over a tiny, entitled fruitcake with a stick up her arse. That is incredibly overfamiliar of you. Now bloody shoo. Shooed me! The Scot pulled the stool out forcefully, so I had to move back or be clobbered by it. He assessed my surprised expression and his countenance, to my confusion, transformed from merely irritated to total disdain. His face clouded over.
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That chuckle made me falter visibly. Using the time to cool down, as memories of the week pricked me and helped to put everything in perspective, I grew calm enough that I felt confident in striding back out there to grab a coffee from one of the barista carts. There was a line already forming at the closest one and I hurried a little to make it before it got too long. At the sight of the imposing figure of the Bastard Scot marching toward the cart from the other side, I picked up my feet and almost ran toward the spot.
I skittered into place behind a man in a suit, accidentally hitting his carry-on with mine. Oh dear God! My face blazed with color and I quickly lowered my gaze down the length of his dark blue jeans to the loosely laced black leather biker boots on his feet. Big feet. You know what they say—shut up! Who cares what they say? Uh, hell no! I followed, my carry-on bumping on its wheels with my fury. And she definitely thought so.
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- Fight Or Flight, Book by Samantha Young (Paperback) | magoxuluti.tk.
I love your accent. This guy had no manners. But I did. Would you mind? She eyed him in disappointment. Back of the line. To my disbelief, his shoulders started to shake. Was he laughing? I looked at the metal espresso machine and saw in its shiny reflection a distorted image of him grinning, teeth and all. Ugh, he was so abrasive! Two minutes later the Bastard Scot sauntered by me, shot me a wicked self-satisfied smile, and saluted me with his cup of coffee.
The guy in front of me gave me a wary look and stepped so close to the woman in front of him they were practically touching. And the truth was, the Scot was making me into an asshole. Or my bad mood was. Christ, I needed to get home, and as unfair as it was to blame an entire country for one man, I never wanted to speak to another Scottish person ever again.
Visiting Scotland was so off my bucket list. Suddenly something in the loudspeaker announcement caught my attention. Flight DL to Boston has been canceled. Please see the gate for alternative flight arrangements. Apparently, the volcano eruption and consequent ash cloud that had grounded flights in Europe had had a domino effect on domestic flights in the U. This means we unfortunately do not have a crew or a plane available for the scheduled flight to Boston.
Please form an orderly line so we can make other arrangements for you. As more and more decided to do that, the antsier I became. There was no way I could stay in Phoenix another night. Two days had been long enough. I needed to get home. Or I was going to lose myself in gigantic, uncontrollable sobs. My fingers were shaking by the time I handed my ID and ticket over to the gate agent.
He recognized me from earlier because his lips pinched together. A flight to another airport that has a flight to Boston? And a flight to Chicago is leaving from here in an hour. I just handed over my credit card. Thank you, Universe. And then I stared at my seat.
Fight or Flight Neural Pathway Mapped in Mouse Brain
And proceeded to glare at the person sitting in the seat next to mine in first class. You and I are done. The Bastard Scot looked up from his newspaper and gave a slight shake of his head. Lifting the carry-on that weighed a ton seriously, it was a miracle I got it shut , I stumbled a little, losing my grip, and it whacked the Scot on the head. At the sound of his grunt, I smiled.
That was a happy accident. And even though there was a double arm divider between us with little cup holders in them, he still managed to make me feel overwhelmed by his size. He pulled out the table from the side of his seat and propped a laptop open on it. Scott—the Bastard Scot—responded in what seemed to be his typical abrupt fashion. The flight attendant handed him a glass of water and then smiled at me. But there was nothing. My toes twitched with irritation, the way my fingers gripped tight to the glass with annoyance as I sipped the champagne.
I side-eyed Mr. Scott as he sipped his water with one hand and tapped the mouse pad on his laptop with the other. I should have been glad he was ignoring me, but for some reason that felt as insulting as his behavior in the airport. And I mean treated as if I was invisible. And now here I was being treated to the same by a complete stranger who had obviously made a snap judgment about me. I glared out of the corner of my eye at him, my gaze drifting to the laptop screen his eyes were glued to. A wave of surprise moved through me. He clicked between tabs—spreadsheets with figures, complicated drawings that looked like technical specs, dense documents, e-mails.
All of which suggested the Bastard Scot was more business guy than motorcycle gang member. His stunning gaze turned my way. Confusion mingled with aggravation radiated from those unusual eyes. I pointed to his laptop in answer to his silent question.
Fight or Flight
He looked back at it and then at me. The confusion left his expression, abandoning the aggravation that seemed to grow into full-blown vexation. I took his silent retort for a yes. Come to think of it, you have been doing that since the first time we ran into each other at the airport. He gave me a taut nod. But you can often tell a lot about a person from the way he or she looks.
You saw tattoos and thought—what.
But you are right, I dinnae know you, but I can tell by the time you spent on your hair and makeup, on the money you spent on your suit, on those designer shoes, the diamonds in your ears and around your wrist, that for whatever reason—and I dinnae know what those reasons are—you care what people think about your appearance. I care. I just dinnae care what anyone else thinks about my appearance. I like to look well presented. That only made his words more provoking. They prodded an old hurt that had already been reawakened this week.
I was determined to bury it where it belonged and did not need this stranger messing with my efforts. I cared too much what people thought. Despite his dismissal of me, of how much it opened old wounds, I decided the best thing I could do was just ignore him as previously planned. I drank the rest of the champagne and put the empty glass in the cup holder beside me.
Trying to ignore his existence, I opened up my current book on my e-reader, my body humming with awareness of the large guy beside me and growing steadily more pissed off about it. I hated that I kept getting faint whiffs of cologne—a decidedly delicious musky, woodsy, spicy scent that suited the bastard way too much.
I sniffed in derision as I pulled the cell out of my pocket. Pleasure that transformed from smug to tender at the sight of the name on my phone screen. Lunch hour, you know. That sucks. You okay? I had to do this alone. We both know that. You are always there for me. You should have let me be there for you with this. She knew my side of the story, of course, but I was afraid that all those people would somehow convince her everything was my fault.
It was a ridiculous fear, because Harper loved me, but still it had snuck under my skin. Just call or text me when you land in Chicago and let me know when your flight gets in at Logan tomorrow. Bye, sweetie. When I glanced over at him, however, he was frowning at his computer screen.
The announcement that we were getting ready for takeoff came over the PA and we were asked to stow away larger devices like laptops. I surreptitiously watched my obnoxious neighbor as he put away his laptop and settled back in his seat. He closed his eyes, and I used the moment to study him. The sleeves of his henley were still rolled up, so I could see up close some of the tattoos on his left arm.
In among smoke, dust, and what looked like debris from buildings was a modern-day soldier running with his rifle. Above him there was what looked like the foot of another figure, but the rest of it was hidden by his shirt. My wayward gaze moved upward to his interesting face.
Fight or Flight Neural Pathway Mapped in Mouse Brain
His full, pouty lower lip surrounded by that short beard drew my attention. Stubble was usually a turnoff for me, but I had to admit the pain in the ass suited his. I wondered if it scratched or tickled when he kissed a woman. The mere thought caused a tingle between my legs that shocked me.
Not curled. Looking back at his face, I saw the wrinkle between his brow and the slight flare of his nostrils. Was the badass Scotsman afraid of flying? I was instantly reminded of Harper. She was terrified of flying. She was a ball of nervous energy as soon as we boarded an airplane, pale and trembling until we were up in the air. Still, I hated how scared she was. But Harper never let fear control her.
However, the precise functioning of orexin neurons in nociception has remained unclear. A research team centered at Nagoya University has now uncovered a role for orexin neurons in the link between nociception and the inability to feel pain analgesia in mice. The study was recently reported in Scientific Reports. The researchers bred mice with orexin neurons that could be selectively and temporally destroyed by a toxin. This specific cell death was controlled by the presence or absence of a chemical added to the animals' food.
Mice lacking orexin neurons were found to be more sensitive to nociception than control mice, as demonstrated by pain-related behaviors such as withdrawing their paws from a hot plate or licking paws injected with a chemical irritant. Conversely, the artificial activation of orexin neurons significantly decreased such pain-related behaviors, suggesting its analgesic effect.
Selective removal of orexin neurons also reduced neurons expressing another chemical messenger, dynorphin, within part of the hypothalamus. Development of a novel measurement system enabled the researchers to record real-time orexin neuronal activity. No such response was elicited when weaker stimuli were used, nor when the mice were anesthetized. Temperature-dependent increases of heat stimuli also induced a similar response, which again could not be detected under anesthesia, suggesting that anesthetics may function by inhibiting orexin neurons.
Materials provided by Nagoya University. Note: Content may be edited for style and length. Science News. Story Source: Materials provided by Nagoya University.
- Fight or Flight by Samantha Young.
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